The Watchers
by theGWENismightierthantheSWORD
Summary: They aren't really gone...they'll always watch over Gotham... A series of one-shots.
1. The Joker

**A/N: This series is intended to be a series of one-shots from the perspective of various departed Batman characters. They will reflect on their actions during the Nolanverse films and, if applicable, reflect on what has happened in the films since they died. I though this idea seemed really original and would provide a unique perspective on many of our favorite dearly departed characters. Please enjoy, and do review!**

**Chapter One: The Joker**

I spent the last five years of my life in the loony bin...that is, Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. And let me just say…it sure was loony. The whole place was full of crazies, guys in white coats trying to shove pills down your throat twenty-four hours a day. It just wasn't my style. If I hadn't been so doped up on antipsychotics and the Antidepressant of the Week, I would have been working an escape plan. In between doses of my meds, I missed things…my tailor, for one thing, and a good filet mignon now and again. But most of all, I missed my knives…all 38 of them. They had names, you know. Each one had a special weight and feel in the palm of your hand. They're probably wasting away in some ridiculous GPD evidence locker now…rusting…suffering…

I would have gotten out someday if it weren't for the riot, because sometimes, you see, antipsychotics don't work the way they're supposed to. I didn't do anything. I just sat in my cell like a damn brick, but some of the other prisoners…well, they got a little angry one day. They filleted one of the guards and took another hostage. My whole floor got put on lockdown, and hey, because it was Gotham, the "insurrection" lasted for ten days. There was a little storage closet at the end of the hall with some moldy biscuits in it, and that's what we ate. Everybody drank out of the sinks. There was only one problem….no meds. And when crazies don't have meds…they go through withdrawal. Chills, hallucinations, and worst of all, psychotic breaks! Great plan, right? Give a bunch of criminals mind-altering drugs that make 'em feel even worse. A couple years before I came to town, some guy actually tried to give 'em to everyone with the Narrows sewer systems, and he got arrested! What a world!

So, around day six, I start to feel a little funny, right? The other inmates say it's 'cause my meds are running out, but I just can't kick the feeling. I go back in my cell and things start going real bad. …Now, I love chaos, but the things I saw…they'll get to a guy. I see a piece of broken glass on the floor…and hey, I wasn't thinking too straight at the time, but I decide that my scars need a little "touch up." So I stick the blade in my mouth and pull all the way up to one ear. My cellmate starts yelling and screaming and runs out of the room…but I just cut up to my ear on the other side. And then, because I felt like it, I carved a word into my arm. "Anarchy," it said.

The whole thing seemed pretty funny at the time, so I started laughing. It was kind of garbled, 'cause, hey, there was a lot of blood…but I laughed and laughed. And then…I went to sleep.

At the time, it seemed like a great thing to do, like I said, but now I think it's a crying shame that I died back then. Things got pretty, well, crazy, in Gotham for a while after I died. Oh, how I wanted back in the game! That Bane, that masked man, how he terrorized the Batman! I envied him. Like never before, I yearned to return to the world. He did what I had never done…he broke the Bat and spirited him away. Then, he corrupted Gotham, destroyed their spirit bit by bit as he planned to destroy him. He told them that they could be saved, but I could see the truth from this place. I exulted with him. It was beautiful…absolutely beautiful. The things I could have done in a Gotham like that! The chaos I could have created…

And that's not all. I finally saw through the mask. I finally saw who the Batman was, after all this time. And that coward, who would rather let innocent civilians die than reveal his face to the world…was none other than billionaire Bruce Wayne! I was stunned! …I had had my suspicions, sure, but had never seriously believed that Wayne could really be the man in the suit. Like I said, this is one crazy world.

All good things must come to an end, as they say…although I never expected the Batman to make it out of that Pit of Bane's. If only I had been there! The Bane, well…he needed me. In his final hour, look at him! Killed by a cat-burglar on a motorcycle, and that mad girlfriend of Wayne's taking credit for all of his achievements? No. If I had lived, things would have been different. Things would have been…better. Now, I never thought Gotham deserved to get blown to smithereens, but if that's the price for true anarchy…then I would have been all in. I would never have left Gotham alone in its time of need. I would have helped it through…to its chaotic, particle-smashing, anarchic end.

I have no place in Gotham now. …I can never go back there. But once in a while a light blows out in the Narrows, or in the Arkham Asylum basement, and it wasn't quite ready to die yet…and that's because of me. Sometimes a druggie in the slums under the monorails takes a real bad trip and wakes up screaming…'cause of me. And sometimes the cops at the Major Crime Unit hear a very special laughter echoing through the halls of their unit…the same unit that had to get renovated after a bomb blew it half to Kingdom Come. That's my existence now. But it has to be enough. Until I can figure out a way to screw with where I am now…messing with Gotham is all I have to fill the time.

**A/N: I encourage you to review this story, including suggestions for other characters I could write for if you have any. Reviews are the stuff of life; they inspire me and encourage me to keep on writing. Let me know what you think, okay?**


	2. Harvey Dent

**A/N: I felt really inspired by this story and decided to come back to it right away. Thank you very much to Mr. Thumbsup for your review. I took your suggestion and wrote Chapter Two from the perspective of Harvey Dent. Please, everyone, feel free to read and review, complete with suggestions. Reviews keep me going and inspire me to write. Enjoy!**

**Chapter Two: Harvey Dent**

I don't deserve to be here after the things I did. In life, I was a practicing Christian and went to church as often as I could. I always believed that when you died, you had two choices based on the sins you committed in life: Heaven or Hell. I thought God would decide what happened to you. Instead, I'm here, without really knowing understanding what "here" is. I can't see my face, but I know it's healed. I'm not submerged in fire and brimstone and I'm not being tortured or tormented for eternity. I'm just…watching. And I don't deserve such a reprieve.

I murdered people in cold blood, several of them. Granted, they were corrupt and deserved punishment, but I can see clearly now that that punishment should have been delivered by the justice system. I also kidnapped the innocent family of a coworker—a very good man—and threatened to kill them before his very eyes. In retrospect, I don't know which of these acts pains me more. I devoted my life to the law, but in the end, I took it into my own hands, no better than a common vigilante. That clown, that Joker, he corrupted me. He maimed me and killed the one person I loved more than anything in the world but, more than that, he made me compromise my principles. I believe firmly in justice and the rule of law. But after what the Joker did to me, in the final days of my life, I can see now that I experienced a period of what the law calls "temporary insanity."

Looking back, I see the signs of my madness as clearly as pearls at the bottom of a pool of water. Before the Joker's crimes against me, before I lost Rachel, my lucky coin was a mere token, a memento of my past. Afterwards, however, I became obsessed with truth and fairness. In my twisted worldview, I thought that luck was the only way that the world could truly be governed justly. Like my face, my coin had been scarred in the accident, and I saw that as a justification of my resolution to start deciding others' fates by flipping it. By luck, we had both been maimed—now my coin would help me mete out justice. I can see now how mentally impaired I was, but at the time, all of my decisions seemed perfectly rational. In the courtroom, I was always quick to shoot down my opponents' attempts to use the insanity defense for their clients. As a general rule of thumb, I simply refused to believe that defendants could be in such an altered state of mind that they failed to recognize the difference between right and wrong. Society teaches all of us morals during our formative years, and I believed that these morals were essentially incorruptible. Now, having myself experienced such symptoms, I see the error of my ways.

The guilt I feel for my criminal acts seems insurmountable to me now. It is compounded even further, however, by the shocking cover-up that Commissioner Gordon and the Batman participated in after I died. I kidnapped Gordon's own wife and children and threatened to murder them, an act which I wish I had never done. It was baseless in reality and could never punish the parties truly responsible for my circumstances, parties who deserved punishment via the legal system in the first place. Furthermore, I tried to kill the Batman, Gotham's hero and savior in lieu of my fall from reason. My death at his hand, under such circumstances, was nothing short of necessary. But I could never have expected him to take on the responsibility for my crimes and, furthermore, to falsely assume the role of a criminal in Gotham's eyes so that I could be viewed as a hero and martyr. That both the Batman and Commissioner Gordon agreed to this both moved and appalled me deeply. Furthermore, I was stunned to finally see the Batman's identity. The man behind the mask, the man willing to assume my guilt for the good of Gotham, was Bruce Wayne, a man who in life I hated but who I now understood why Rachel so admired. Guilty of the crimes that I committed, I never deserved such accolades.

Commissioner Gordon used the lies he propagated about my image to pass the Dent Act in my memory, an act which indeed put many criminals into Blackgate Prison. Although I was pleased at this development for the sake of my city, I could not help but grieve at the deception taking place. I could only watch in horror as, years later, the villainous man known as Bane took control of Gotham and drove it into a state of anarchy. He was a heinous man, and I wished that I could be there, as a mentally capable District Attorney again, to resist his influence. On some level, however, I could not help but be relieved that he was the one to reveal the truth about my guilt and the Batman's innocence. The citizens of Gotham were shocked and began to revile me, but it was nothing less than what I deserved. When the Batman saved the city from nuclear destruction, I rejoiced that his reputation had been restored in the eyes of the people.

Bruce Wayne lives on today, somewhere in Europe. He has found happiness, and I feel glad for him. Towards the end of Rachel's and my lives, I worried that Rachel was in love with Wayne. When she agreed to marry me before her death, I felt justified that I had won her heart, a fact which further set me on my path to madness. Now, from this place, I have seen the rest of the story—her childhood love for Bruce, the choice that she faced, and the letter she wrote for Bruce that his butler burned.

Rachel is here, in this place, too. I can feel her tugging at me, and her voice calls to me in the night as I watch over Gotham's skyline. I will go to her someday, but not yet. Six, eight, ten years have passed since my death, and yet here, it is like the blink of an eye. In this place I have learned the meaning of eternity. I cannot face Rachel now. My face may be healed, but the scars cut far beneath the surface. Rachel is the love of my life, and I will spend infinity with her…but not until I have overcome my guilt.

**A/N: Let me know what you think and don't hesitate to suggest any characters that cross your mind. I'll write again soon!**


	3. Bane

**A/N: So I know that I already posted Chapter Two very recently, but I also know that with The Dark Knight Rises out, there's only one character everyone REALLY wants to hear from, and that's Bane. Thank you to JanEyrEvanescence12 for bringing this to my attention! Since Bane tends to be brief, while not short, this piece isn't as long as Chapters One and Two. I feel like its gets the point across without going on. Please enjoy, and review whether you enjoyed it or not. Reviews are my bread and butter-my inspiration. I also love suggestions!**

**Chapter Three: Bane**

The experience of death was nothing if not…unexpected. It came upon me in Gotham's City Hall as I prepared to end the life of the resilient Batman, and came in the form of a traitorous petty thief on my payroll. In retrospect, I do not believe that I felt her vehicle's artillery pierce my body. But as I fell to the floor and careened into the wall opposite my enemies, two notable deviations occurred in my physical processes. The first was that the pain which had been a constant part of my existence since my time in the Pit ceased. The second was that my heart stopped beating. Looking back, I can recall the precise moment that my heart stopped within my chest. I tried to move, but instead felt myself being carried up….only to find myself in this place.

My body, which suffered multiple injuries in my final confrontation with the Batman's cohort, has been healed. In fact, I am uncertain if inhabitants of this place truly have physical forms. I have observed, however, that I am still affixed with my anesthetic delivery apparatus, my "mask," if one cares to check for its presence. Religions of many cultural and ethnic backgrounds hold that in the afterlife, the crippled are to be cured and the sick made well, et cetera. Indeed, I am cured of my pain here, but my mask remains. I prefer its presence. It has become a part of my identity now, like a scar or a missing appendage may be on another. I have worn it for so many years that I may not know my own face without its presence.

From this unique, yet utterly powerless, vantage point of mine, I viewed the utter ruination of my plans for Gotham. Talia, the child whom I had sheltered from the Pit in our youth, seeing a spark of promise in her, ultimately failed me. Though, indeed, she flooded the weapon's containment chamber according to my orders, she was foolish enough to die in an automobile accident, giving the Batman access to the device before its detonation. As the legitimate heir to the League of Shadows, one who had the right to usurp my position at any time if she dared, I had expected more of her. Her carelessness allowed the Batman to fly the weapon out over the Bay in his foolish flying machine, saving the city and even escaping with his own life. As I watched her die from high above Gotham, my pride at her actions during my own final moments conflicted with my disappointment.

This place is not only reserved for watching; it is also a hub of knowledge. Here, I have access to history and literature that those still living could never begin to conceive. Language and war, fire and decay are no barriers here. As time in Gotham and the rest of the living world continues to pass, my knowledge of the past and present continues to flourish. The ancient Chinese texts burned under the reign of Qin Shihuang-di, the Greek epics, the lost plays of Shakespeare…all are laid bare before my eyes. I can no longer train my body in this place, but instead, I better my mind. I sought to accumulate knowledge while I lived, but here, my understanding expands by the instant.

As much as my newfound educational sources please me, however, I cannot always refrain from looking down on Gotham. I am helpless here to wreak the destruction upon that city which I in life believed that it so certainly deserved. Since my death, however, I have noticed a change taking place among the citizens of the city. Corruption has decreased, and crime rates have followed suit. Although the people of Gotham no longer live under my rule, they seem to fear judgment by others for their offenses, as they were once judged by the good Doctor Jonathan Crane. Their moral improvements bring me pleasure as well. Their reprieve from nuclear destruction seems to have bettered them just as that destruction itself would have bettered their society. There may be hope for them…for the moment.

Talia is here in this place, but she keeps company with her father, Ras' al Ghul, whom she loved dearly. I prefer solitude; I no longer feel bound to protect her. Together, yet separately, the three of us watch over the land of the living. For now, the delicate balance the League of Shadows maintains is stable. No city-state requires its intervention to be brought back into the natural order. But this is only temporary. If Gotham does not deviate again in the coming decades, then soon some other city will need punishment. The League of Shadows did not cease with my death. A new leader will rise and will preserve the world order. And though I cannot join in that cause, I will be with him…I will haunt his dreams, his subconscious….controlling, persuading, guiding….

Rising.

**A/N: I hope that as you read more chapters of this work, you feel that I'm accurately capturing each character's voice. The Joker was certainly hard to write for, but Bane is an even greater challenge, because his sentences tend to be choppy onscreen. If you liked my characterization of Bane, though, I did write another piece about him previously, called "Pride." Feel free to check it out on my page, and keep the reviews coming. I dearly appreciate all of you.**


	4. Rachel Dawes

**A/N: So after writing three chapters of "villains" or, in Harvey's case, "heroes who lived long enough to become the villain," I decided to go ahead and write from the perspective of a "heroine." Please enjoy, and thank you to JanEyrEvanescence12 for the idea for this chapter.**

**Chapter Four: Rachel Dawes**

I don't have all the answers, okay? Even up here, where I am now, I don't just magically understand why things turned out the way they did. I know a lot more than I used to, that's for sure. As time has gone by in the living world, I think I've started to understand myself better…my own actions, the choices I made in the final days of my life. Then again, there are some things—the choices that other people made, and their actions—that I won't ever understand. The problem with this place is that, other than looking down on the people you still love, there's not a lot to do except to think. So that's what I've been doing as everyone else has been living out their lives; I've been thinking. And this is what I've worked out.

When I first found myself here, thinking was the last item on my agenda. All I could do was watch in helpless horror as Harvey, the man that I loved and had wanted to spend the rest of my life with, descended to ruin. He murdered civilians and policemen; he kidnapped the family of a dear friend of mine and threatened them in revenge for my death. From this place, I could see his mental state clearly. I saw that he had become obsessed with my death and perceived it as "unfair." But instead of going after the parties truly responsible, Harvey—his face scarred in an accident during his own rescue—blamed the system of which we had both been a part. He even contemplated suicide, seeing himself as a key failure in Gotham's justice system, a man who had personally allowed the Joker to keep walking the streets. In the end, he died at the hand of another man very dear to me, Bruce Wayne. I cried as I watched him die, but at the same time, I was relieved. After the hell of his final days in Gotha, he was finally free.

Bruce Wayne and I have had a…complicated relationship. As children, we were playmates and friends, but when we met again as adults, our friendship began to mature into something more. But when Bruce contemplated murdering his parents' killer at a parole hearing, I knew once and for all that I could never be his wife. Then Bruce disappeared, and when he returned years later from his world travels, he had changed. Now I know that he spent those years with Ras' al Ghul, training and learning the skills that he would use to become the Batman. Bruce never tried to hide his identity from me (perhaps not wise, as I worked in the District Attorney's office), and neither did he try to hide his affection for me. Idealistically, I still wanted to believe that defending Gotham as the Batman would teach Bruce the morals I knew he was capable of learning. I foolishly said that I could wait for him to finish his work as the Batman, and I did mean it…until I met Harvey.

Harvey was the love of my life, and now he is the love of everything that comes after it. As Harvey's and my relationship deepened, I tried to help Bruce understand that I could only love him as a friend and brother. Finally, at the end of my rope, I wrote him a letter and entrusted it to Alfred Pennyworth, a man whom I regarded as like a grandfather to me. I hoped that the note would make my feelings clear, but I died before Bruce and I could discuss its contents. From this place, I know that Alfred burned the letter, and allowed Bruce to believe that I had loved him to the last for almost eight years. For much of that time I was angry at Alfred for letting Bruce maintain what I viewed as a delusion. He kept pictures of me in Wayne Manor and wept alone in bed many a night. But now, in light of what came after, I know that Alfred was more far-seeing than I ever was. Though Bruce experienced what he viewed as the loss of my love, he was then able to move on from my death without the burden of a broken heart. Thanks to Alfred's influence, Bruce eventually found the love of his life in Selina Kyle.

Writing that letter was probably the worst thing I ever could have done to Bruce. But on the other hand, with all this thinking I've been doing, it wasn't too hard to come up with the best thing I've done for him, either. It happened during the end of Bruce's time as the Batman, when he first came into contact with the mercenary known as Bane. Bane broke Bruce's back in a fight and transported him to a prison in the Middle East, intending to let him die there in agony. I had watched it all take place, crying out of helplessness for my friend, my brother, my almost-love. But when the terrorist dragged Bruce down into the prison itself, I saw an opportunity to save him. I had learned that even though I was here in this place, I could still sojourn into the land of the living in certain ways. With all my passion, with all my soul, I thrust myself into Bane's subconscious. And it worked. Bane placed Bruce in the one cell in the prison next to man qualified to save his life. Thanks to the doctor-turned-prisoner that I had seen from this place, Bruce healed and returned to Gotham to bring justice to Bane and to save the city we all had so loved.

Harvey is in this place; I know it. I can feel him on the edges of my consciousness. I call out to him, but he never answers. I know why—he feels too guilty for his crimes, too unworthy, to be with me. But we will be here for eternity, and I can wait until he is ready. There are others here too, darker souls…even the ones who killed me. I can't presume to understand why things have turned out the way they have, but I'm not afraid of them here. This is not a place of fear. For now, as the years pass in Gotham and the rest of the world, I will be waiting for Harvey to join me. Sometimes I look down on Bruce and Selina. I'm glad that he's finally found happiness, and I want him to have the longest life he can. But when it's his time I'll be ready. I will go down to the living world, and take his fading spirit by the hand…and guide it up.

**A/N: Please let me know what you think about Rachel's voice. I love and appreciate reviews, favorites and alerts, so if you support my story, please let it show. I hope to write again soon, so keep the suggestions coming!**


	5. The Mobsters

**A/N: First of all, I would like to personally thank Amelia St. Claire and the anonymous Guest who posted reviews about the last chapter. I am really grateful for you, and all of you, who are reading, reviewing and following this story. So, after writing about Rachel, I decided that I would write from the perspective of two more minor characters. This will serve as a sort of interlude to my chapters about all the big shots. Please enjoy!**

**Chapter Five: Interlude-The Mobsters**

**Part One: Gambol**

I ain't got nothing to say about that damn clown. He was a mental case, pure and simple, and we never should've paid him a dime. Only a f—king psycho would hide in a body bag to get into my offices. If you want to talk to me, then talk. You may not like what I say, but you can talk. You can talk to me all f—king day.

All I'm trying to say is this: the minute that cat walked in on us back at the bakery, I knew he was trouble. He shoved a f—king pencil through one of my boys' eye sockets, but nobody else at the table even flinched. If somebody had done that to Sal Maroni's consigliore, he'd have had a bullet through his head before you could flip a coin. But nobody cares when your boy Gambol loses a man. Of all the hustlers in town, I had to work the hardest to earn my reputation. I've been hustling just about since the day I came outta my Mama, but when I was down in Gotham, I didn't have any respect. I didn't have any cred. So when I had a bad feeling about that nut job…nobody gave a f—k.

Me dying like that, on the edge of the clown's damn knife—it wasn't supposed to go down like that. With everything that happened after I kicked it, my dying was like the start of that psycho's rise to power. A lot of crazy sh—t happened after that, and I knew I needed to be down there, for my boys, for my block. The clown got his, but then that sick f—k with the mask came along and tried to blow Gotham to hell, and thanks to Harvey Two Face Dent there wasn't anybody on the streets to fight back, 'cept for the Gotham Police Department. What a joke. The only man ballsy enough to finally stand up to that guy was the Batman…and I've got to admit, when he blew that nuke up over the bay, I was a little relieved. For the city, you know.

But I ain't got nothing to say about the clown, if that's what you think I'm going to talk to you about. All I'll say is this: I didn't have nothing to do with that riot in Arkham that ended up making him off himself. Trust me, I wish I had been there. But watching that psycho cut himself up, the way he did me, was real damn satisfying.

**Part Two: The Chechen**

In broad terms, I do not have many regrets from my life. It is true that I have not been the altruistic, pure person that my sisters and mother were, and that is not a point of pride for me. But I did what was necessary to make a better life for my nieces and nephews in the Ukraine; I believe that wholeheartedly. I came to the United States as a young man, to a city in the East called Gotham, and slowly built an empire for myself there. I sometimes came into conflict with the American legal community…but no matter what obstacles I faced, I always thought of my family.

Although as a general rule, I feel content with the time I spent in the living world, like all men who are honest with themselves, I am not entirely free of regrets. One large source of pain for me is the interest I expressed in the enforcer who called himself the Joker, whom I first met in my final weeks of my life. My colleagues were put off by this man's mannerisms and general appearance, but I had met many strange men in the Eastern Bloc, and invited him to outline his ideas to us. Due to my reluctance to pass by a potentially beneficial business deal, a chain of disastrous events were set in motion. Many of my colleagues were eventually murdered or brought into police custody, and I myself also died at this Joker's hand. He had become a man that none of us could pay, threaten or talk into submission. Perhaps his rise to power was inevitable, yet I blame myself for unleashing that man upon the world.

The Joker killed me in a particularly cruel way, a manner which I am certain that he viewed as both ironic and intended to send a message to me somehow. As you may be aware, a major part of my business empire consisted of the use of canines. I bred them, trained them and sold them, both as guard dogs and as "attack dogs," if you will. This may sound cruel, but I have always loved animals, ever since my childhood in the Ukraine. They are extremely dear to me, and I always kept my dogs in the best conditions and raised them in a comfortable environment. For that reason, the Joker deemed it appropriate to murder me and to feed the meat of my body to my personal attack dogs. After I had lost the battle for my life, I could not blame the dogs for their actions. Meat is meat, no matter the specific kind; a dog cannot be expected to discern this. I watched from this place as the Joker then commandeered my beloved dogs for his own and retrained them to protect him, this time as he intended to make war with the Batman and psychologically torture the citizens of Gotham.

Yet this was not the greatest horror that I suffered. My murder was not painless, but I have suffered worse indignities. My greatest regret, truly, is that I could not protect my dogs from that Joker…and, moreover, from the Batman. The Batman claims to be a hero, saying that he will not use guns or take a human life. In his final confrontation with the Joker, it is true, he did not kill that man, and in the years since, he has never broken these governing rules. Even when the masked man, Bane, terrorized the city of Gotham and threatened it with nuclear destruction, the Batman refused to use a gun or to take the mercenary's life. But, as he took the Joker into custody, the Batman disregarded the lives of my dogs. They were attack dogs, certainly, and had been trained as such, but the Batman callously threw those beautiful animals down the building's elevator shaft. He did not even make an attempt to subdue them. My dogs died, and I could do nothing to save them.

Their names were Ludmila, Svetlana and Valentina. They did not deserve to die like that.

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed these two segments. I know that Gambol's language is less than stellar, but I hope you agree that this was how he would have actually spoken to you. So, keep the reviews and follows coming—they are so, so meaningful to me. I intend to write again soon, and I welcome your suggestions.**


	6. Ras' al Ghul

**A/N: Here's Chapter Six, anyone. I was happy to see a few more follows this last time, and I know that I was a day late, but I was a little sad that no one reviewed my "confessions" from Gambol and the Chechen. Don't be shy…reviews are very important to me. So without further ado, here's Ras' al Ghul!**

**Chapter Six: Ras' al Ghul**

I first met Bruce Wayne perhaps a year before my death, but I had known of his family and his own reputation for many years prior. Thomas and Martha Wayne, as it is generally accepted, were the pinnacle of Gotham's philanthropy, a force of positive change whose lives were tragically cut short when they were viciously murdered by one of the very people they aspired to better. Young Bruce was then raised by his domestic servants, as the newspapers and periodicals eagerly reported in the intervening years, before mysteriously disappearing after a parole hearing for his parents' murderer at which the convict was himself killed. Gotham citizens, especially privileged ones, were quick to sympathize with the seemingly disillusioned young socialite. But members of other, less forgiving circles, such as my own, saw the life of Bruce Wayne as yet another testament to the inevitable downfall of the city of Gotham.

You may have noticed that the society you live in seems to be in a state of decline. This is in fact true, and is also inevitable, but do not have fear; it is only part of the natural cycle of civilization, and will indeed improve again in time. To again reach its full potential, however, our society requires the presence of a guardian force, a moderator willing to do what is necessary to destroy any culture that crosses the natural boundaries of civilization. For centuries, this force has been the League of Shadows, and in my last years of life, that culture was the city of Gotham. I was brought into the League of Shadows after impressing a particular client in my line of work. I soon succeeded the leader of the League upon his retirement and set into motion my plans against Gotham. Through my work I had accumulated a sizeable fortune, and with the League's political connections I was able to invest my funds and create a significant business empire. It was during this period, as I financially prepared myself and physically trained my men for their work in Gotham, that two unexpected individuals made their appearances in my life.

Although the League of Shadows' main base is in the Himalayas, we maintain a network of contacts throughout Eurasia and the Americas. As a result, news reached me almost immediately when several League operatives stumbled upon a young girl claiming to be my daughter in the Middle East. The operatives relayed to me that her story seemed "far-fetched"—she told them that she had escaped from a quarry-like prison where her mother had been murdered, aided only by a mysterious protector. When I heard these facts, however, I was filled with horror. My youthful transgressions with Melisande, an erstwhile employers' daughter, had indeed ended suspiciously. We had married secretly, and when the lord found out I had been condemned to a prison called the Pit, only to be freed. I never saw Melisande again, and now I understood why: she had honorably taken on my punishment, not knowing that she was pregnant with our daughter.

Talia was a beautiful child; I was fascinated with her. Truly, I had never believed that I would marry or have children once I became involved with the League, but I immediately came to love Talia deeply. Our Himalayan base of operations is no home for a child, but there was no other place for Talia, and so it was there that she lived, along with her protector, the man who would become known as Bane. Knowing now what Melisande had suffered in her final years, I could no longer allow the Pit to continue to operate in its present form, so I dispatched League agents to take over its operation for our own purposes and, principally, to emancipate Talia's protector. Talia seemed to love him as deeply as she did me, as if she had two fathers, and she would not rest until I brought him to the League of Shadows' Himalayan base. Like any father, I worried that his injuries and the mask I had procured to ease them might frighten her. She only wept, at the first, and cherished him all the more thereafter.

I knew that I should be thankful for that man's actions on my daughter's behalf, and truly, I was. But when I looked at him, all I could hear was what I imagined to be Melisande's words to me. "Look at the world you have brought Talia into," she would say to me. "You are raising her to be a murderer like you. You murdered me, coward." Perhaps it was unfair to the both of them, but, although I did train them for several years, eventually I could no longer bear that man's presence. Truly, he was not a normal man. His time in the Pit had changed him negatively, and he was more suited to interrogation and torture than the moderation of society. As a result, my reasons were not only personal for expelling him from the League. Talia was furious with me for this, but I had plans for her too; only a few days later, I sent her to study abroad for a year in Paris. I also wanted more for Talia than the life of an assassin.

Talia was living in Paris, having settled there after her studies, and her protector was working as a soldier-for-hire in the Eastern Bloc, when I learned that Bruce Wayne was interred in a Nepalese prison. According to my sources, he had come to the region to learn more about the criminal underworld, only to be caught stealing—ironically, and perhaps purposely—Wayne Enterprises goods. Bruce, I believed at the time, had the potential to be more than a socialite. I believed he harbored rage against Gotham (which was true) and that this rage could be channeled to make the man a perfect League of Shadows agent. I even considered him as a spouse for Talia, seeing an opportunity to merge Wayne Enterprises and my business holdings in preparation for the destruction of Gotham. And when I first met Bruce, my deductions did indeed seem correct.

As my last months in the living world passed, however, I realized that I had misjudged Bruce. To be brief, he was too loyal to Gotham and its corrupted morals. Rather than destroy it according to the natural order, Bruce believed that he could save Gotham. In the course of his misguided efforts to protect Gotham, to reduce its crime without taking a single life under the guise of the "Batman," he was even willing to murder me, the man who had freed him from his fears. And since my death, it is true that Gotham has struggled on, despite the attempts of other villainous men attuned to the cycle of civilization. At the close of the day, however, Gotham is in its death throes. Although Bane failed to bring Gotham its reckoning, it will not prove necessary as time goes on. As the years pass, and Melisande, Talia and I watch over the living world together, we will see Gotham's destruction firsthand. No outside influence is necessary. Whether the Batman is present or not, the cycle will continue. Gotham is destined to die.

**A/N: I really hope that everyone enjoyed the latest update! Your reviews, follows and favorites are very meaningful to me, so please let me know what you think in your own way. Suggestions are welcome!**


	7. Talia al Ghul

**A/N: Thank you SOOO much for the three reviews left for Ras' al Ghul. I promise, I told you that I was a little bit sad that nobody left reviews for the Mobsters, but I feel all better now. So, thank you very much to Amelia St. Claire, Dracula X and the anonymous Guest who reviewed. You have restored my spirits. Please enjoy Chapter Six, and please read the author's note at the end, because I have a very important question for you there!**

**Chapter Seven: Talia al Ghul**

Before my mother died, she filled my mind and heart with stories about the world beyond the Pit. Mother never spoke openly about the life she had led before her confinement, but it was clear to everyone in the prison that she had been a woman of some means. Thanks to her upbringing, Mother had extensive knowledge of life outside our living hell, and she always encouraged me to have hope that I could someday live in that world. Later in life, when Father had told me more about Mother and her social status, it was not difficult for me to believe that she had in fact visited many of the cities she enchanted me with as a child. At any rate, thanks to Mother, I believed in a world of glittering skyscrapers, shining seas and speeding trains and automobiles. Also thanks to Mother, despite my time in the Pit, during my childhood years I believed that the world was a place of goodness. And as an adult, after I had visited the cities of which my Mother had spoken, I saw that she had been right.

Later, however, there were other influences over my view of the outside world. My Mother died and Bane became my protector, only to be himself maimed by disease and medical malpractice as I begged my Father to return to the Pit and save him. Bane and I were then brought under the tutelage of the League of Shadows, and Father educated the two of us in his own views of the world. Although Father and Mother had—and still do, here in this place—love one another deeply, their views of the world were totally different. Father taught us that the world was a place of corruption and ugliness, in which power must be checked and societies must be destroyed to maintain a natural order. Perhaps most importantly, Father believed that humanity was primarily sinful by nature, whereas Mother had always said just the opposite. And I must confess that as I lived in the world, as I studied and worked and moved from place to place, I saw that he had also been right.

You may be puzzled, perhaps, that I can so easily agree with two such contradicting statements. The world itself, however, is a place of contradictions. It is a world of touching innocence and those willing to protect it, yet coupled with acts of violence and corruption so cruel that no honest man can stomach them. Bane, it may be said, is a man of contradictions. When Mother died at the hands of the other prisoners before my very eyes, he was the only one willing to save me. He saw a potential in me, like that in a daughter that he would never have, and protected that potential in me until I could escape the Pit. In this way, in the eyes of a child or in the beauty of a flower, Bane could—and perhaps still can—see the goodness of the world. Yet Bane subscribed wholeheartedly to my Father's ideology; he knew in his heart that humanity was corrupt, and when Father died in Gotham, felt personally responsible for dispensing justice to that city. It did not even cross his mind that he had been expelled from the League by my Father, so determined did he feel. He was willing to sacrifice his life, and my life, for that ideal, for what he believed to be a righteous truth. For his loyalty, Bane was the best man that I have ever known.

Bane and my Father believed unfailingly in the destruction of Gotham, and, like them, I dedicated my life to the realization of that dream. I discarded my Mother's beliefs about the beauty of the world and, in the final years of my life, worked wholeheartedly towards the restoration of the balance of civilization. By the final year of my life I was fully prepared to lay down my life to destroy Gotham, just as Bane was. But in my final months I met a man whose philosophy was very similar to my Mother's. Like Mother, this man believed that humanity was inherently good, but like Bane, Father and I, he was willing to do anything to preserve that ideal. That man was Bruce Wayne, the very man whose fusion reactor I would use to bring reckoning to the city of Gotham, and whose vigilante persona was working against us on the streets at night.

I knew that, ultimately, Bane and I would need to kill Wayne. First, however—although this may sound perverse—I desired a taste, a breath, if you will, of his goodness. Mother and Bruce were such positive people, believing always in the infinite integrity of mankind. I was their opposite, and I would soon show my true colors, but first, if only once, I wanted to feel true goodness. So I seduced Bruce Wayne, and in the end, this aberrant act of mine allowed me to save Bane's very life at our final meeting. Wayne trusted me with a gun while he tried to interrogate my friend, leaving me the perfect opportunity to disable Wayne and try to activate his company's nuclear weapon. What happened next is painful for me to speak of. Later, in this place, I learned that after I left Bane and Bruce Wayne to personally detonate the nuclear device, Bane was killed by Wayne's cat-burglar friend. Then…to be short, I also perished, in a painful automobile accident. My plan to be "Gotham's reckoning," along with the man who had brought me out of the Pit, had failed.

Here, along with Father and Mother, I continue to look out over the living world. When I first arrived in this place, I was very bitter. I had believed in Mother and Wayne, and in Father and Bane, and I had failed them both. As time goes by in Gotham, however, and I continue to watch over that city, I have begun to reconsider these feelings. Mother believed in a world of infinite goodness, and Father in a world of infinite evil. I, their daughter, survived a living hell thanks to the kindness of another, only to try to destroy a city and be stopped and myself killed. So, perhaps, it is more fitting to say this: I believed in Mother and Wayne, and I believed in Father and Bane. And I have done what all of them would have done themselves.

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I don't know why, but I this one was probably the most difficult for me yet. I just didn't know what Talia might have to say about everything that had happened to her, but this rings true for me. Okay, so here's my question:**

**My next chapter is going to be another two-fer called "The Rich Man and the Poor Man." As for who the Poor Man is, you guys can guess if you want, but the Rich Man is going to be EITHER Daggett or Maroni. (Daggett is the Board of Trustees guy from Rises who hires Bane and brings him to Gotham, only to get killed, and Maroni is that mobster who Harvey Dent prosecutes in Dark Knight and then kills in his car as Two-Face.) So, who should it be? At this point I don't know when the next chapter like this will happen, so pick your favorite on the assumption that you might not get to hear from the other guy for a while. Thanks! I love reading your reviews and suggestions.**


	8. The Rich Man and the Poor Man

**A/N: Thanks so much for your feedback, guys! Based on the feedback I had received by this morning, I had started outlining a plan for Daggett, since our Guest made such an eloquent argument for it. During the day however, Makemyday95 broke the deadlock and agreed with Mr. Thumbsup that the Rich Man should be Maroni, so Maroni it is! Besides, I thought of a great matchup for Daggett in my next two-fer. Hint: whenever I get to it, it will be called "The Corrupt." Guess if you like. Anyways, enjoy!**

**Chapter Eight: The Rich Man and the Poor Man**

**Part One: Salvatore Maroni**

My consigliore is the one that told me not to skip town after that hit on Dent went bad. Now, don't get me wrong, Giovanni was a good guy, a great guy, but when he told me to stay in Gotham after the acquittal, I should have just punched him in the shoulder and called for my driver. He didn't have an ulterior motive or nothing; after I died, I'd have seen it if he had been two-timing the family, and he wasn't. Anyways, he got gunned down on a bad trick a couple months after the Joker got put away as it was. No, Giovanni wasn't trying to steer me wrong when he told me to stay in Gotham. "The boys need you, Sal," he said to me over a steak dinner and champagne that night. "They need leadership that they can see, not a guy in Chicago giving 'em orders by e-mail." And at the time, I thought he was right, so I stayed.

Ten, maybe even five years ago, staying in Gotham would have been the right thing to do. There's always been strife in the city, sure, whether it's between families, street gangs, even rich folks and the poor folks who want their money. No matter who was duking it out, though, there always used to be protection for the guys calling the shots. Even if nobody ever said it out loud, you never put out a hit on a rival boss, for example. It just wasn't done, not in my father's day, and not when I first took over the family business. But things have changed down in Gotham, and the code of honor I always adhered to seems to have disappeared.

Take this Joker guy, for example. Whereas the families are built on codes and rules, this clown had no rules. That was clear the minute he barged into that meeting between myself, the Chechen and Gambol and threatened to blow us all to Kingdom Come. Just a few decades ago, men like this didn't even exist in Gotham. The Joker was the first of his kind, but he sure as hell wasn't the last. He started something, some sort of screwed-up revolution, and as I've been watching since my death, men like the masked mercenary Bane have been continuing on where the Joker left off. Psychos, all of them. My men did what they had to do to keep the family in business, but they never blew up football stadiums or murdered civilians in their hospital beds. We had honor.

What got to me the most, I think, is that thanks to the Joker, even some of the "good guys" started to fall. Contrary to what the movies tell you, we're not all proud to be part of the family. We do what we have to do to keep it going, and we raise our sons to join the business, but if my daughter had wanted to go to law school instead of Pre-Med? Hell, I would have been proud of her. Somebody's got to keep the city running, and there's a sort of harmony between the police, the law and the families. They bring us in, we bail out—we understand one another.

So when Harvey Dent, his face all scarred up thanks to the Joker's latest hit, pointed a gun at me in the backseat of my car, I couldn't help but feel for the guy. The clown had destroyed the man he used to be, the man who told me to buy American next time I tried to have him shot. That swagger was gone, and all because the Joker killed his woman, something that no one in the families would ever do. Within the families, we have a code that governs us, like I said, and one of the most important rules is this: never involve the wives, girlfriends or children. If you have a conflict, settle it with the man, not his family.

I knew Dent wouldn't ease up the pressure on the family business, so I had always thought that eventually I'd have to bring him down. But I would never have killed his girl like that; we, in the family, had limits. The Joker didn't. And that, right there, that difference between us…that's what killed me.

**Part Two: Joe Chill**

It wasn't my first night doing it. A couple of nights ago, I had took a lady's wallet as she had come out of a gas station over on 232nd Street. All I had to do was flash a knife in her face and she basically threw it at me. It was easy, and it made me feel braver. And the week before that, I had stole some money from some addicts who were passed out on heroin. So by that night, I had decided to step up my game. I had bought a gun from that guy who dealt 'em under the monorails in the Narrows, you know the one. It was just a pistol, nothing fancy, but he taught me how to work it. I wasn't even planning to use it. It was just to up the ante, the intimidation factor, since I knew my next hit would be bigger. And I had already picked out the opera house, because I had figured out that plenty of rich people came there every night. Surely one of them would leave the show early enough to lend me a little money, I thought. No big deal, I thought. They've got tons of it.

So, I stood in the alley outside this opera house for a couple of hours. A cop car drove by once or twice, but I just pretended to be sleeping in the Dumpster and he didn't do nothing. Finally this rich family came out; a man, a woman, and a wimpy-looking little kid. The kid was saying he was sorry for making them leave the opera before it was early, or whatever, when I came off the wall and they saw me. I pulled my gun right away and told 'em what I wanted. I would have just asked for their money, you know, but the lady had on some jewelry I figured I could pawn, so I decided to ask for that too. The guy gave me his wallet easy, but when I went for the jewelry, he got a little antsy. And, well…I think you know the rest. Boom, boom, they're dead. I looked down at the little boy, and I knew I had another bullet left in the chamber, but this kid couldn't ID me. This kid may have been the same age I was when I first hit the streets, but he was too traumatized too even think straight. So I didn't pull the trigger. I just ran.

I found out later, after I got murdered, that that kid never did ID me. Unfortunately for me, that cop that kept driving by did, and he must have put it all together when the call came in about the murders. I got collared maybe two hours later while I was trying to eat some pancakes at my favorite diner. Yeah, it was with their money, but I hadn't been there in years, and I felt like I deserved some good home cooking. It turned out I had shot Thomas and Martha Wayne, the chief bigwigs of Gotham City, and there wasn't much I could say to the cops when they found the lady's jewelry in my jacket pocket. The judge laid it on pretty heavy at my sentencing hearing, and afterwards my lawyer told me I should have said I felt "remorse" for my crimes. Goody goody for me, I got an early parole hearing because I was willing to tell the police all about my cellmate in Blackgate, who I found out later was some big shot crime boss himself. Would have been a great ending, except for the part where Falcone had me killed as I walked out the courthouse doors. And just when I thought I was turning things around.

After I died, I actually found out some pretty crazy sh—t. The kid whose parents I killed, Bruce Wayne? Apparently he tried to kill me at my parole hearing too; guess I wasn't walking out of there alive one way or the other. But when he couldn't—get this—he traveled to Asia, took a bunch of drugs with an Arabic crime lord, and came back to Gotham to become the Batman. The Batman! For almost ten years that kid "fought crime" on the streets, until he faked his own death while blowing up a nuke over Gotham's bay. I could hardly believe it. I bet if all the other criminals the Batman has put away knew about who he really was, they'd want to kill me too.

You know, I should probably feel inspired that that wimpy kid whose parents I killed turned into a crime-fighter and saved my city from destruction. But you want to know the truth? I really don't. I just needed the money. I hadn't had a job in three years and I didn't give a crap what the collateral damage was. I had to make it. To make it, I killed two people, and if it hadn't been for that cop, I would have gotten by just fine.

…I should probably feel bad. But I don't.

**A/N: I hope you liked this latest chapter, everyone! Your reviews have continued to be very meaningful to me, so please keep them coming. As always, I welcome your suggestions.**


	9. Thomas Wayne

**A/N: Thank you to everyone for the responses that you have continued to pour in. I especially appreciated the review I received after last chapter from an anonymous Guest, who stated that my work to expose characters' motivations and backstories helped them with their theatre work. I feel honored to help you! Anyways, here is the next chapter, which covers the point of view of the Batman's father. Please enjoy!**

**Chapter Nine: Thomas Wayne**

There's a statue of my son in the atrium of Gotham City Hall. Plaques have been erected in his honor at Gotham General Hospital and Elizabeth Arkham Asylum, and there are plans for an even bigger memorial in Gotham's biggest recreational park. Of all these tributes, though, I think the statue is my favorite. My son stands tall over the men and women passing by, his eyes determined and his mouth set in a resolute line. People can't help but look up at my son's visage as they walk by, and when they do, they almost always smile. But the funny thing is that none of those people really know that the man they're smiling up at is my son. When I look down on that statue, I see my boy, Bruce. But when the rest of the world looks, they see the man they called Batman.

When Bruce was born, I must admit that I had great hopes for him, though they didn't have any specific form. I knew in my heart that he was destined to do something great—to start a foundation, perhaps, or to formulate an ingenious public works project. I needn't dwell on the fact that Bruce was a member of a very privileged family, and as such, like all of us in such circumstances ought, he had a duty to give back to those less fortunate. From the first, I did my utmost to educate Bruce on the value of service to the community. For a society to succeed, those with finances and influence must not only work for their own profit, but also do everything in their power to benefit those of lesser means. During my time in the world, I did everything I could to fulfill that ideal, and after I died, I feel proud to say that my son carried on that legacy, albeit not in a way that I could have predicted.

By the time that Bruce was learning to walk, it had become clear to me that Gotham was descending into an economic depression. Though I would never have conceived of such a thing while I lived, since my murder I have learned that this downturn was in fact the result of a plot by a secret society called the League of Shadows. Perhaps if men like Ras' al Ghul had had more faith in the integrity of mankind, my son would not have been suffered so much in his time in the world. At any rate, towards the end of my life conditions in Gotham had declined to the point at which only the upper classes were living in comfort. Even such a simple act as driving to the office exposed me to the suffering of my fellow citizens on the streets. I knew that Gotham needed change, so Wayne Enterprises funded the construction of a monorail system intended to provide cheap public transportation throughout the city. The monorails also created jobs in the construction, maintenance and operation of the tracks, and for the first time in years, I saw that conditions were improving.

I was doing everything I could to help Gotham recover at the time of my murder. I had just put another public works project on Wayne Enterprises' table, this one a community college in the Narrows, and I had done a couple of fundraisers to raise money for the local food banks. And then, just like that, with the flash of a gun barrel—my life was slipping away as my son wept over me. What could I say? What could I do? There was so much I wanted to tell him, so much we'd never talked about. All I could say, as darkness closed around my vision and a white light seemed to pulse in the sky, was something I'd told him over and over: "Don't be afraid."

I found out later that the man who murdered Martha and I had led a very hard life. More than anything, I wanted to forgive him, and for a long time, I tried. But finally, now, I can say to you that although I've come a long way psychologically from the day I died, I can't forgive my murderer. He took Bruce away from Martha and I, and made us miss out on the rest of his life. Even worse, he took Martha and I away from Bruce at an age when no child should face their parents' deaths. If I could go back and change it, I would do anything to make sure that my wife and I survived that attack to be there for Bruce. Maybe if we had been, things wouldn't have turned out in Gotham the way they did.

But then again, if Martha and I hadn't been murdered that night, no one would have stood against Ras' al Ghul and Jonathan Crane, and that madman the Joker and the mercenary Bane, when all of them made their stands against the city of Gotham. If Martha and I had lived and those men still had risen against our city, could anyone really have stopped them? Because we died, Bruce changed; he didn't start a charity or open a new wing in Gotham General Hospital, but he did something even more honorable. He became something greater than my son—he became a legend, and I couldn't be more proud of him. He didn't just make Gotham a better place, like the rest of the Wayne family tried to do. As the Batman, he saved it from destruction.

Now, Bruce is living his life out in Europe with a woman he loves very much, Selina Kyle. Martha and I would never have dreamed of Bruce marrying a woman like Selina, but the two of them have been through a lot together, and both of us are very happy for them. We watch over them when we can, and hope they have a long and happy life together. Finally, after all the hardship he has endured, my son is free of the anger he harbored during his time in Gotham. But in that city, the memories remain. The plaques, the tributes, and the statues, all of them dedicated to my son.

My son, the Batman.

**A/N: I hope that you enjoyed this latest installment. Please continue to review, favorite and subscribe to my work, as all of this is extremely meaningful to me.**


	10. Interlude

**Interlude**

**This isn't a chapter update, and this is going to be the last update you receive from me for a while—I don't know how long. For the sake of preserving my anonymity, I suppose I can't go into detail, but suffice to say that I am about to have a life-changing experience. Just trust me, I'm extremely excited and it is going to be great for me. I didn't tell you sooner because I didn't want to worry you, but even when I started writing this story, I knew that today was going to be the last day I would be able to update for you. I won't be gone forever…I'm coming back, sometime. But it's going to be a while. So, if you've really enjoyed this story, here's what I'd recommend: put this story on alert, or favorite it, whichever is more suited to your tastes. Maybe write me a review telling me how much you've liked it so far. It really, really means a lot to me. I promise I won't forget about you, and after this interlude, I'll start posting chapters from the point of view of those who hadn't yet passed away at the end of The Dark Knight Rises. Who might you like to hear from? Let me know.**

**In the meantime, don't think of this as goodbye. I know it's hard to say farewell, but you've read these chapters now. I've shared my vision with you. We've communicated. So even though you won't be hearing from me for a while, please remember that the Watchers aren't going away. They're with you, too, in your heart, because I shared them with you. The Joker, Rachel, Bane, Bruce's father…all of them are watching over you. So it's not the end, just like it wasn't the end for them. They're a part of you now, just like they're a part of all of us—the human experience.**

**I'm leaving you with a couple of parting words. One is a poem I wrote that I feel sums up the tone of this series. Please note the first letter of each line when reading it. The second is, as best I could manage it, the quote that Commissioner Gordon read at Bruce Wayne's funeral at the end of The Dark Knight Rises, which is from the end of A Tale of Two Cities; likewise, I also found it appropriate. For their own reasons, and in their own way, I think that everyone I have written for so far could have said these words as they went to their death. Although I won't be updating for a while, as I said, I will come back online within the next couple of days to check for reviews and feedback, so please let me know your feelings on this turn of events, and my parting words. Thank you for your loyalty until now, and farewell.**

**G**one from the world am I, no longer

**O**f this place,

**T**ranscended to

**H**igher state of being…

**A**nd yet that city never leaves my

**M**ind.

"I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from this abyss…

"…I see the evil of this time and of the previous time…gradually making expiation for itself and wearing out….

"I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful, prosperous and happy…

"I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendants, generations hence…

It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."

~Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities


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